The Complex Anatomy of a Broken Man
by starsfleet
Summary: Castiel stops a man from committing suicide, only to find that very same man is Dean Winchester, his incredibly handsome, incredibly troubled and grief-ridden neighbour. Castiel learns what it means to love someone who cannot find it in their hearts to love themselves: He learns the complex anatomy of a broken man.
1. Chapter 1

The Anatomy of A Broken Man

Chapter One

It was Dean Winchester's thirty-third birthday and he was standing on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, contemplating suicide.

The wind pulled on his jacket insistently, and his feet threatened to greet the unknown in front of him as if him and Death were old friends. His Heineken rested on the top of the bridge along with the bouquet of flowers he'd bought a few minutes earlier.

He was supposed to bring them to Sam's funeral.

Dean had taken a detour on his way to the cemetery, eyes empty as he found his way to the bridge.

The tears somehow never came before. Not when Bobby called him. Not when their father told Dean, _It should have been you_, before he passed out cold on the couch. Not when he stood there, inches away from death.

He closed his eyes, shutting them tight so the wind wouldn't rip them open. Images of his family mourning the smarter brother, the nicer brother, the _better brother_-

He reached over for his bottle, and took another swig before realising it was already empty.

"Hmmph. Figures."

He gazed over the ocean. Crests of the ocean strained to meet the tips of waves, and the sunlight danced across Dean's features. It was now or never.

Pressing a palm to his tattoo, the protection sigil that he had shared with Sam, he took what he was ready to label as his last breath. He raised his arms spread eagle, like an angel, took one foot off of the edge and -

"Hey!"

Strong arms coiled around his waist and tugged him backwards violently. Dean fought for control, sputtering out and leaping forward, but this man's hold on him was too strong.

The nine shots, the two bottles of beer, and the grief that rested in his chest like lead must have found it's way to his heart because he fell completely limp then.

It was Dean Winchester's thirty-third birthday, and a stranger wearing a trench coat had saved his life, and was holding him in his arms.

* * *

"Sir?" The police man yelled down at him, for the fourth time. Dean shook awake, eyes fluttering wildly searching for a sense of familiarity. He hacked out a cough a couple times, and propped himself up onto his elbows. "Sir, can you hear me?"

He squinted up at the police man. "Yeah, sorry. I'm- I'm... where am I?"

Extending a hand and pulling Dean to his feet, the cop said, "The Brooklyn Bridge. God knows what you're doing- passed out, on the side of the road."

"I- _oh._" It came back to Dean, then. The memory of how ready he was; how unbelievably ready to _kill himself_ he was. A flood of emotions crashed into him.

Sam, Dad, Mom, Sam, Jessica, Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam is dead.

I am not dead.

Why am I not dead?

"Son, you need a ride back home?"

Dean nodded. "No, I'm good. My car's right-" He stopped. Frantically, he spun all around, searching desperately his car. His baby, the Impala. It was nowhere.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fucking shit.

After everything he's lost, his fucking car, too?

"I'm fine. I'm at Lawrence Street. Just a couple blocks over." The hangover pounded into his forehead with every word he said, and the rays of light that cut into his eyelids weren't helping either. At that moment, he was safe to say that he had never felt crappier.

By the look of the sun, he'd only been unconscious for an hour

"I think it's best that you get a ride. Come on."

Dean agreed halfheartedly and followed the cop to his car.

He felt as if the universe was plotting against him, like a sick sort of reality tv show where the gods pick a perfectly fine guy and then pull him through literally the worst days of his life, to see how long it'll take before he'll break.

If that was the case, Dean was very certain he'd already lost.

In the car, he tried not to think about anything, and when he got out in the yard of his and Sam's house, he forced himself not to think about anything at all. If he thought, this would be real. If he thought, Sam would actually be gone.

Inside the house, he walked past family portraits of smiles stretched over features and arms slung around shoulders, and he had to hold his breath. He assumed if he breathed, he would choke on all of the grief around him.

Dean gathered his things into a suitcase, and walked out into the hall.

His silhouette stretched down across the hall, into Sam's bedroom. Taking small, cautious steps, Dean found his way to his door. His hand was shaking when he reached out to the splintery knob and pulled it closed. The house reeked of a sad silence.

Outside facing in, he swallowed the large lump in his throat.

"Goodbye," Dean whispered. He didn't know if he was saying to the house, or to Sam, or to what, but it felt final on his tongue.

He hoped he would never have to come back there.

* * *

His new apartment building was pretty raggedy and run down, as it was all he could afford.

For the years before, Dean worked at a bar until Sam, being the wealthy lawyer that he was, made a deal with him that he would pay for him to go to school, to become something respectable. So he went to NYU. He was technically still enrolled, majouring in Psychology. But if he didn't get a very steady source of income soon, that was history.

His apartment gradually got less drug dealerish as he walked up each flight of stairs, thankfully. When he reached the top floor, he realised it was only him and one other door at the opposite end.

His suitcase dragged on the ripped carpet in the hallway, and the air collected in a hot and heavy atmosphere, but at least it wasn't home.

Just before Dean reached the door, his zipper popped. Out spilled just about everything in his suitcase, and Dean couldn't help but laugh at his misfortune.

Of course that would happen. Why should anything else?

"Do you need help?" A voice, that for some reason reminded him of rough canvas, called out from across the hall. The other door.

Dean dropped to the floor, not bothering to match a name to the voice. He just wanted to get settled; he didn't have time to small talk with the neighbours. "I'm good."

"No, it'd be my pleasure." The guy insisted, and within moments, he was next to him, picking up sweaters and pants and books and putting them neatly into the suitcase.

Now Dean felt like a dick.

"Sorry. I mean, thanks." He said, when it was all inside the suitcase again. He turned to shake his hand.

Wow.

He couldn't tell why the man had such a surprised look on his face, but it certainly didn't do anything to distract from his features.

Unreal blue eyes, ones that made Dean's mind short circuit for a moment, coupled with a jaw painted in quick, defining strokes, along with hair that looks like he just finished a crazy round of sex.

"What?" Dean said, clearing his throat. "Why the face?"

If the man recognised him, he did not say anything. He just shrugged, completely losing the look of surprise. "Nothing." He accepted the handshake. "I'm Castiel. I live next door. Well, you knew that."

"Castiel. That's a strange name. Don't hear that often. Or at all, really." Dean said, then wondered why he was still carrying on the conversation when he just said he didn't want to chit chat.

"I'm named after an angel."

"Oh. Cool."

"Yes, my family can be a bit religious at times. And by a bit, I mean completely disowning me when they found out I was gay." Immediately, Castiel bit his lip and mentally smacked himself. Oh, how he hated his tendency to ramble. Dean just stared.

"Wow. Well, uh-" Dean laughed a little. Wow. It felt strange to laugh, so soon after-

_Sam._

His mood worsened instantly. "I have to go." He fumbled with his keys, eventually finding the key hole.

Castiel looked at him sadly. "Well, I'm here. If you need anything else," he added, weakly.

Dean nodded. His door gave with a little push, and the new house smell flew out to meet him. He gave Castiel a polite smile, and went inside.]

Castiel groaned.

He gets a beautiful neighbour, one that doesn't remember him from two weeks ago when he saved his life, and within two minutes of meeting him, he's told him his sexuality.

_Good going, Castiel,_ he told himself. _Good going._

* * *

Dean spent the next two weeks moping and mourning, not doing anything but eating and sleeping and ignoring calls from Bobby ( he didn't have any from Dad. What a surprise), until he decided it was definitely time to get off his ass and look for a job, since his college 'fund' was bound to be running out soon.

He walked down to the cute little coffee shop that took up the first floor of the building, grabbed himself a cappuccino, and sat down at one of the tables with a newspaper in his hands.

The coffee was super sweet, and he was glad there was a good coffee shop so close to him. There was one good thing going for him, small as it might have been.

"You know, I never got your name." Castiel said, matter-of-factly as he closed the door shut behind him. Dean looked up at him, startled, and gave him a half smile.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Winchester. That's a strong last name." Castiel stared, wide eyed as he scolded himself for being so nervous. This guy was just that- a guy. Nothing more, though incredibly beautiful, and muscled, and smart, giving the Faulkner books that fell out of his -

"Yup," Dean said, smiling politely. He turned back to his paper, hoping Castiel would leave then.

As the thought crossed into his mind, he didn't actually know why he wanted him to leave. He was nice enough, though a little awkward. Not to mention really, really attractive, even more so in the v-neck he was wearing then. He wasn't in the best place mentally to be having crushes, or thinking anyone's cute, not now. He guessed he wanted to spare the guy in advance.

It was a terribly awful thing for Dean Winchester to like you.

Just ask Cassie. Or Layla. Or Carmen. Dean loved them all, and they each came out of the relationship more bruised than healed. More recently, Anna. Dean and her had almost been married, before Dean had a very startling realisation that he was, in fact, very gay. No girl should ever have to hear her fiancee tell her he's gay a week before the wedding. But it was what she got for being with Dean. It was like he was cursed.

Castiel looked around, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Can I sit with you?"

Dean looked up, surprised at his bluntness.

"There's nowhere else," he clarified. Dean nodded, and went back to the paper.

His eyes seemed to follow Castiel's ass as he walked away to get his coffee, and he felt the sudden urge to whistle. Damn.

_No. Stop. Dean, come on. Don't focus on his-_

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Castiel had bent over to look at a picture on the barista's phone, elbows steadying him on the counter. His shoulder blades jutted out at the top of him, and his back trailed behind him marvellously, coming to a stop when his spine reached the base.

Images of Dean fucking into him while Castiel braced himself against the wall-

_Whoa. Whoa. Not okay, Winchester. Slow down._

He cleared his throat, and glued his eyes to the newspaper. He reread the same line over and over, eyes always threatening to lift up and take a look.

Up at the counter, Castiel and Jo laughed together at the adorable pictures of her newborn baby girl. He swiped on the screen, wanting to see more when Jo tapped him on the hand about a million times.

"What?" He asked, laughing.

"You know that guy in the sweater, over by the window?"

He paused. "Incredibly handsome?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, he's my neighbour," he said, trying desperately to be nonchalant.

Jo laughed as she handing him his coffee, the same thing he'd been ordering for the past year. "He was just totally checking you out."

Castiel went pale and stiff.

"What?" Jo said, worried.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah. He just did the awkward boner shift and everything."

"I think you might be mistaken, Jo," Castiel said, though his face lit up just a bit at the thought.

"Uh, I think you might be underestimating my ability to read people, and my gaydar."

"Okay, first of all, Dean isn't gay."

"Oooh, _Dean_, is it?" Jo asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Castiel gave her a look. He wrapped the cloth around his coffee. Looking back, he realised he was holding up the line.

"Sorry," he said, to the woman behind him. "Jo, look, I told him I was gay earlier," he sped up to explain himself at her surprised look, "on accident. And he seemed very homophobic about it."

"Wow. Well then, he's pretty gay for a homophobe."

He just gave her a roll of his eyes, and walked back, giving her a wave.

Dean was still staring at his paper when Castiel returned.

Castiel knew Jo must have been playing around with him when Dean rose the moment Castiel sat down.

"Sorry," he said, "I have to go."

"Uh. Oh. Okay." Castiel stuttered, obviously upset. Dean didn't seem to care at the rate at which he ran out the door.

Castiel stared at the coffee Dean left, which still had steam rising through the lid. What was this guy's problem? Whatever interest he had in him before quickly turned to disappointment. He tapped his foot a couple times and then thought- _fuck it, I don't feel like living next to a homophobic neighbour for the second time._

He finished his coffee in a couple minutes, thinking things over. Before the logical part of his brain that kept him out of violent situations could respond, he flew out the shop and up the stairs, humid air weighing him down instantly. He slowed to a jog, and didn't slow his pace until he was on his floor. Closing the distance between their apartments in three quick strides, Castiel knocked loudly on Dean's door.

Wait. What if he hadn't gone home?

But apparently he did, as a second later, he answered the door.

"Hi," Dean said.

"So what's your problem with me?" He asked.

Dean just blinked, obviously caught off guard. "I-uh-"

"I shouldn't have told you I was gay within five minutes of meeting you, that I understand. But for you to act like I'm going to ask if I can sleep with you at any moment I'm around you-" Dean gulped with arousal at the thought. Castiel all proper, whispering into his ear- oh fuck, "that's absurd. And bigoted. And homophobic. So I would appreciate it if you looked for another apartment if I make you that uncomfortable-"

"Castiel," Dean said, chuckling a bit, "I'm not homophobic."

"Wait." He tilted his head to the side, and lifted his eyebrows.

"Just trust me when I say," Dean reached forward, big hands laying flat against the shorter man's hips to steady himself. He dropped his neck to become level with his ear, and his voice fell so low it turned into a growl. "I'm very, _very_ far from homophobic."

Castiel stood, mouth gaping, heart threatening to beat out of it's cavity.

Dean smiled, winked, and shut the door.

The minute it shut, the smile fell from his face, and he breathed in and out, terrified._ Holy shit, what had he done?_ The chance that Castiel even liked him, even wanted to go out with him, even wanted to do anything with him was so low, and he probably just violated his personal space and-

He flung open the door.

"Hey, I'm-" The sorry was kept in his throat because Castiel was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean came hastily in the shower, and when his orgasm rushed up to meet him, blue eyes flashed behind his eyelids.

It startled him, though it wasn't unpleasant. He stroked himself through it, and then washed off. Cold water began to swim down his body, and he let out a shiver. The hot water was out again.

Wow. He really needed a job.

He put on a sweater, and black jeans, and walked out the door. The moment he stepped into his doorway, his phone rang.

"Yeah?" He said, not bothering to check the ID.

"Dean." Jessica. Oh, god. He hadn't seen her since before everything. Dean stopped where he was, put his back to the wall, and sat.

"Jess."

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" She had a new, different layer of ice to her tone that Dean had never heard before.

"I- uh-" He tried to keep his voice down, "I got a new place."

"Were you shopping for houses instead of going to your own fucking brother's funeral?"

"Jess, I-"

"Is that where you were?"

"Jess, listen to me," Dean pleaded.

"You missed. Your brother's. Funeral. Where were you? Drunk, hooking up with some chick you barely know at a bar or something?"

He swallowed.

"No, I didn't call to yell at you, or list all the reasons why I'm furious at you. Though I would probably run out of minutes if I did," she sighed. There was a long, long, pause, and Dean bit his lip. He fucked up. Royally. "Are you alright?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Running out of money, though. Need a job."

"Are you still going to NYU?"

"S-" He felt his brother's name lodged in his throat. "Sam was paying for it."

_"Oh."_ He felt the sadness in that one word, the weight that was carried with it.

"Yeah."

"Did you even see Sam yet?" She meant at the cemetery.

"No, no, I haven't."

"We needed you, Dean. We were grieving- all of us- and you- you know what, I'm sorry, I'm going now."

"Okay," he didn't know what to say to that, "Uh- Jess?" He could hear her click her tongue and sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Okay. Bye, Dean."

His head thudded against the wall behind him. He breathed in and out, in and out, the breath travelling up his chest and escaping from his mouth. For a second, he envisioned the breath was his sin. His mistakes, his everything. And the breath would leave him, red and swirling and contaminated with everything that he did wrong, but it would always come back. Always.

Sam wouldn't.

It kind of hit him then, like a freight train of realisation. His brother was dead.

He didn't cry, though.

He just sat there.

"Hey, are you- are you alright?" Castiel stood above him, hand outstretched.

He didn't know why he asked. Castiel knew he wasn't. Flashes of the scene on the bridge played out in his mind. His trench coat smelled of Dean after that. Of dirt, of sadness, of a man who'd given up.

But apparently Dean didn't recognise him. So it was not in his place to tell him that he knew Dean was so far from alright. He was at the furthest reaches of being alright, and although it terrified Castiel that he might go there again, he could not let Dean know.

He took his hand, grimacing as his knees worked to lift him up. He was getting old. "Thanks."

"You didn't answer," he repeated.

"Oh, uh-" Dean said, "Yeah, I'm great.."

It was a blatant lie, but he squeezed Dean's hand, and patted him on the shoulder with the other. "I'm glad you're well."

"Thanks."

"You going to get some coffee?"

"Wait, Castiel. About yesterday."

Castiel bristled with the memory. Dean's hands spread out on his hips, grounding into the bone as if he was his only tether to gravity. He had spent the night fantasizing about those hands, those calloused hands coupled with Dean's voice low in his ear, asking 'Can I?' and Castiel answering yes, all the time, yes, please.

He went weak for a moment with the memory. He hoped his voice was stronger than he felt. "Yes?"

"It was a mistake, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, to invade your space like that. It was really uncool."

"Yes, of course. Don't worry about it." Castiel tried not to look too hurt. _A mistake_, Dean had called it. Not a flirtation, nothing more than an accident.

Castiel felt embarrassed. To get so worked up over a simple mistake, a five second exchange which meant nothing- it was so juvenile.

Dean smiled, relieved he hadn't upset him. "Yeah, I was- going to get coffee, I mean. You wanna come?"

"No," he said, bluntly. "Well, I'm going down there, but just to talk with a friend, not to socialize. Well, I am socializing, just not with-" He stopped himself.

"Me," Dean said, nodding to himself. He studied the blue eyed man, squinting a bit. "Are you sure you're alright with yesterday? I honestly didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," He walked over to the stairwell, hoping he made it apparent that he wanted to walk down alone (to mourn the loss of the potential of someone actually liking him).

He guessed he didn't, because Dean joined him.

"Hey, so how old are you? Just wondering," Dean said, catching up to him as they stepped down the stairs in sync.

"Twenty four."

_Damn. He was young. Probably wouldn't want to go out with someone as prehistoric as me,_ Dean thought. But he said,"Wow. You seem older."

"Thank you?"

"Yeah, it was a compliment."

"And you?" Castiel asked, as they reached the fourth floor. The breeze crept in through the windows and through the hole in his t-shirt.

"Thirty nine."

He whistled. "You seem much younger."

"Well, that's definitely a compliment," Dean said, and when he met Castiel's eyes, he winked.

_What the hell?_ Castiel didn't think he was digging too deep into things. _That was obviously flirty. Right? It was a freaking wink._

He just disregarded it. _No need to get yourself hopeful,_ he told himself.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a writer."

"Ooh, anything noteworthy?"

"No," Castiel sighed. "Poetry, mostly."

"Fun," Dean said, though he had never gotten into it.

He found that he liked this. He liked now, this pretending to be happy. Deep down, it made him forget, just a little.

"What about you?"

"Unemployed at the moment. I'm a psych majour, though."

They reached the bottom floor, and as they walked into the shop, Castiel knew he would regret it later but he said, "The coffee shop is hiring."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That... actually doesn't sound too bad. Who do I see about that?"

He lit up. "You are going to be speaking with the best person I know. My closest friend, Jo."

"Oh, the blonde girl you were talking to yesterday?"

Castiel stopped short. So Dean _was_ looking at him yesterday. A tiny sliver of hope bubbled up inside of him. "Yes, that's her."

"Shit, I forgot my phone in the hall outside my apartment," Dean said. "I'll be right back. But Cas," Castiel's entire body shook at the nickname. "Thanks so much."

He merely nodded, unable to produce words at the moment. He hurried over to Jo, and before she could say anything, told her of all the events that transpired in the last few days.

"I'm sorry, let me get this straight. He has," she began to count on her fingers, "winked at you, gave you a cute nickname, and firmly assured you that he was not gay by _whispering into your ear_ and you still don't think he likes you?" Jo scoffed. "You're oblivious."

"One of those doesn't count," Castiel said. "He took back the 'whispering into my ear' thing. He said it was mistake."

"Oh, hon," she said, catching the way he fell when he said it, "you really like him, don't you?"

"I've tried not to. I haven't even know him that long, he's just so-" he struggled to find the words.

"Handsome?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Really hot?"

"Yes, but what I-"

"Coming this way?"

"I don't- wait-" he turned around, face to face with him. "Oh. Dean. Hi." He prayed to every deity he could think of, hoping he was not nearly as red as his cheeks felt.

"Is this Jo?" He asked.

"You bet it is," Jo answered, giving him a smug smile. Cas stared at her, petrified.

* * *

Just after three, it was settled. Dean was going to be a cashier at _The Mud Cup _starting the next day.

It lifted Dean's state of mind. Another good thing going for him. He felt extra not-depressed after the interview, so he mustered up the courage to knock on Cas' front door.

Cas.

He wasn't sure where the name came from. He assumed it was just because Castiel is a mouthful and all, though he liked how it felt on his tongue. For some reason, Dean liked the fact that was his nickname for him and no one else's. That is, at least to his knowledge.

Dean scolded himself on being even a little possessive of someone that could never be his. Would never want to be his in the first place.

Shit, this was a bad idea.

"Dean?" Castiel smiled halfway at him, opening the door wide.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. The t-shirt rested gently on top of his arms; arms that looked like they could pin him up against the wall as he-

"I- uh-" Dean stuttered, feeling like he was back in seventh grade again. "You know what? This was a bad idea. Sorry. Have a good day."

He started to walk away.

"No, Dean, what?" Castiel said, a bit more demanding than he wanted.

"I wanted to know if you wanted to go out with me."

Castiel's jaw dropped halfway, and his mind whirred to process what he'd just heard.

"On a date," Dean clarified.

"Yes. Yeah. Yeah- definitely," He said, nodding enthusiastically.

It was as if the tiny river of happiness he had before, before Sam had left was flowing again. Rushing through him like a waterfall, trickling into all of the crevices of himself he didn't he know were there.

"Okay, great," Dean said, beaming. "Tonight?"

"Yeah, okay," Castiel couldn't stop smiling either. "I have a lot of writing to do, but I'll be done around seven. Does that sound good?"

"Awesome."

He was glad Castiel shut his door before he did a little fist bump to himself. Things were looking up.

Oh, but how fragile things were when you were fragile yourself.

* * *

Dean had the entire thing planned out when he knocked on Cas' door at seven sharp.

Castiel didn't answer at first, and Dean would be lying if he didn't say he was a bit worried. He knocked again. No answer.

He waited for a minute, and right when he was tempted to go back to his apartment, Castiel answered. In nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean licked his lips, taking him all in.

"Um, hey," He said, leaning in to kiss Cas' cheek.

When he was there, though, he didn't want to move away. The smell of old books and roses and worn out t-shirts short circuited Dean's brain for a second, and he moved down to Castiel's jaw, feeling the stubble brush against him.

Castiel's breath hitched, and he hummed a little, eyes fluttering closed. Dean put a hand on Castiel's bare back, and the other flat against the wall as he continued to press kisses light as air down further and further, until he was at the curve of his neck.

When his lips met skin down there, Castiel groaned, low and guttural, and brought a hand around to grasp the hairs at the base of Dean's neck.

Dean knew then that if he went on, he wouldn't want to stop, and they had a magical evening planned.

Dean exhaled onto him, laughing. "I'm so sorry."

"Really. Don't be," Cas said, a bit breathless. _Did that really just happen?_

H stayed where he was, but kissed him no more. He nuzzled into Castiel's neck. "You smell wonderful."

"Thank you," he said, with a laugh.

When broke away, it was with an embarrassed smile. This wasn't like him whatsoever, this flustered, awkward Dean.

"I got carried away with my writing, and then I had to shower, and then I didn't really know what to wear and- wow. You look very nice," Castiel took him in then, v-neck and pants that suited him beyond nicely.

"Thanks," Dean said with a smile. It took all of his strength not to say _you, too, _which he imagined was not appropriate, not with him half naked, wearing a towel. "And don't worry about it. Uh- do you want me to come back in a few, or...?"

"No, come on in. I'll be dressed in a minute."

Dean followed him inside, not focused on anything besides Castiel's fucking back.

He was lean, that was obvious, and muscled, but not too much. The bones in his back made impressions that almost looked like tattoos in the light. And when he turned the corner to show him to the living room, Dean needed a second to compose himself.

He was so pale, and the sparse hairs on his chest contrasted against it, and the V that dipped into his hips was downright sinful. He stared, probably longer than he should have when Castiel went to change, before he closed the door behind him. All that ran through his mind was the fact that even Cas' bones were gorgeous.

"I'm so fucked," he told himself.


End file.
